Friday, April 11, 2014

The Minister (Pierre Schoeller, 2011)

In the same
way that Krzysztof Zanussi's 2005 Persona Non Grata offered us a
cross section of the intrigues taking place in a Polish Embassy, Pierre
Schoeller's The Minister has undoubtedly the merit of introducing
us into a world we know only superficially, and generally never get in contact
with. Most of its appeal indeed comes from the great care it devotes to
illustrate the mechanisms of power unraveling inside the departments of a
French Ministry.

The film
follows the vicissitudes of Bertrand Saint-Jean, the Minister of Transports of
a hypothetical contemporary French government. The opening consists of a dream
sequence reminiscent of Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut, where mysterious hooded
human figures cohabit the rooms of power together with a naked woman and a
giant crocodile. Unfortunately, this scene sets up an oneiric atmosphere that
the director never quite manages to fully develop, only occasionally
resurfacing later in the film. (It could perhaps justify an op-ed entry in Jim
Emerson's Opening Shots Project as an example of how a movie can confound the viewer's expectations.)

What we
get, instead, is a slice in the no-nonsense life of the ever-busy minister
Bertrand, punctuated by internal meetings, press conferences, strategic
consultations. The Minister has primarily to face two urgent issues: addressing
properly the public opinion following a tragic road disaster, and considering
the option of privatizing public railway stations. Helping him with
decision-making and public relationships management is a numerous staff of
tireless advisors, among whom are his ten-year friend Gilles, director of
cabinet and sort of ghost thinker; his taciturn driver Martin, who is also the
staff's most recent acquisition; and the PR officer Pauline, who follows him in
his daily routine and looks after his public image (when he walks in public, he
always carries a stack of newspapers in hand, with the sport magazine
rigorously displayed on the top).

Writer-director
Pierre Schoeller seems to be primarily concerned with exploring the dark
corners of power, with little regard for the geographical location: even though
the events take place in France, they potentially fit to more or less any European
country. With few exceptions, the public officials we see at work seem to be
moved by mere political convenience rather than the pursuit of public interest.
Far from scandalize us, however, this bleak vision is just a further
confirmation of something we already knew ̶ that
the State is often damaged by the unworthiness of its representatives, and that
private interests frequently prevail in the exercise of power. But, in an age
when citizens' indignation against their government is so marked as is often
aimless, a film that displays that very same aimlessness, and limits itself in
describing the state of things without even trying to give an interpretation,
inevitably appears half-done and short-sighted.

The film
apparently succumbs to the same cynicism of its characters, always keeping its
focus on a superficial level. The Minister himself is depicted as a
self-serving opportunist, but we never understand what really drives his actions
̶ ambition, lust for money, compensation for
solitude. At one point he realizes that he has thousands of contacts on his
phone and not even one friend, but the film never quite addresses this point in
a satisfactory way. The scene where he has dinner at his chauffeur’s home looks
perfunctory and unmotivated (it certainly doesn't help that Martin's character is
only vaguely sketched).

Another
weakness of the film is its lack of a clear point of view, a characteristic
that sometimes can add up to a film's quality, but in this case ends up only as
frustrating. In fact, while the story revolves mainly around Bertrand, there is
also a bunch of characters that (perhaps desirably) seem eager to steal the
scene, but never actually manage to. The newly-employed driver is initially
presented as a key character that has a life of his own, instead of being only a
satellite of the protagonist. Regrettably, this potentially fruitful narrative
line is soon abandoned, and the interactions between Bertrand and Martin are
not explored with the depth we would expect given the premise. The relationship
between Gilles and Bertrand, instead, is developed with greater attention and
is the true emotional hub of the story. Gilles is possibly the Minister's only
friend, and what's interesting about their friendship is how it is influenced
by the decisions Bertrand makes in the exercise of his job ̶ private and public spheres are deeply
interwoven.

The film is
at its best when it abandons its pragmatism and tries instead to look askew at
its characters, making their darker sides emerge. The scene where we assist to
the birth of the son of Bertrand's former driver is particularly disquieting,
not least because of the ominous music playing in the background (the
director's brother Philippe Schoeller at times conjures up a particularly
creepy score). Too bad that the director doesn't leave more room for such
inspired, unsettling moments.

Towards the end, the dream about the hooded
people comes back, but it's too late: by this time the harsh reality has
definitively set in. Why the exercise of state power has turned into a ravenous
crocodile, is a question left unanswered.

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